


Blessed

by shit-escalates (Schm0use)



Category: Red Rising Trilogy - Pierce Brown
Genre: Dragon Age AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 03:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4246965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schm0use/pseuds/shit-escalates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even a mage, though he be an apostate and a maleficarum, deserves to celebrate his Name Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blessed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend and fellow Dragon Age lover's birthday. Hopefully planning on continuing this!
> 
> (Also, “ragnar” is now a Qunari title/means something in Qunlat, JUST GO WITH IT)

The woods were quiet, that night. No assassins, no darkspawn, nothing trying to kill them aside from a rather disgruntled squirrel that Sevro had disturbed while slashing through the trees with his knives. It had leaped for the startled Dwarf’s face and the last they’d seen of the pair was Sevro’s retreating backside as he crashed through the underbrush, the chittering squirrel lodged in his hair.

“Should we be alarmed?” Darrow asked, watching them go. He didn’t seem very alarmed.

“I’m fairly confident in Sevro’s abilities to overcome the squirrel,” Roque said.

“Are you sure about that?” Victra said, coming up on his other side. “He’s not exactly of the hardy warrior breed like our Darrow, here.”

True, the typically grumpy Dwarf was on the small side, even for his race. He was a ranger, one of their company’s scouts, and built for stealth and speed rather than battle—but he did carry a unique affinity for the creatures of the forest. And besides…

“It’s a squirrel,” Roque said. “He’ll be fine.” He peered through the trees at the trail of bent branches and flattened bushes. “At least he’s left us a clear path to the camp.”

“Camp!” Victra sang out. “By the Maker’s voluptuous arse, I can not wait to get back to camp.”

Darrow squinted at her. “In what part of the Chant of Light does it ever make reference to the fact that the Maker’s rear end was voluptuous?”

“Probably all of it.” Victra shrugged. “You know I’ve never heard the full thing. Too boring. Plus, all the constant emphasis on how people like me should be enslaved and subjugated…”

Through the trees, the faint glow of firelight was slowly becoming brighter and brighter. Victra inhaled deeply.

“Can you smell that? Smells like rabbit—or maybe deer? I’m so hungry I could eat a giant spider.”

“I’m going to sleep immediately after dinner,” Darrow said, “And if anyone tries to wake me before morning, I will shield bash them straight into the Fade.”

They cleared the line of trees boisterously, eager for their first real chance at rest after many hard weeks of traveling and battle with the darkspawn.

The camp was deserted.

Fires crackled merrily in their stone pits, and a deer was roasting on a spit, but there was no one to tend to them. The clearing was silent. Several of the tents flapped open in the gentle night wind, with no one inside them. The whole campsite looked exactly as it had when they had left it weeks ago, aside from the fact that it was now completely empty.

Roque felt his heart seize. He stepped forward shakily, but Darrow put out a hand to stop him, sword drawn and beginning to glow a faint violet. Beside them, Victra’s staff was raised, the air around her becoming frigid and frost-bitten—primal magic readied not solely to destroy, but to buy them time. Freeze their enemies in place.

Roque stilled his breathing and focused himself inward. The rushing of his own blood began to echo in his ears, pounded within his mind—his source of power. If he had to fight, he was prepared.

“Sevro?” Victra hissed. Darrow shushed her.

“Spread out,” Darrow whispered. “Search the camp. Roque, inspect the tents.”

“What if Octavia—” Roque swallowed. “What if she found us?” It was a horrible thought. Their party was strong, but the Queen’s reach was far and her allies were many. They still lacked the power to overthrow her cruel regime.

“ _Go,_ ” Darrow commanded him. Roque grit his teeth and hurried to inspect the nearest tent—Virginia’s. He crawled inside, but there was no sign of anything wrong. Of course there wasn’t. Raiding parties didn’t leave friendly notes about the events that had transpired or where they were taking their newfound prisoners.

But… neither did they leave zero signs of a struggle, and a pristine campsite. Roque sat down on Virginia’s bedroll, mind racing. Something was not adding up.

A high pitched squeaking drew his attention to the ground. He stared in confusion as a tiny, furry animal bounded through the open flap of the tent. It was a squirrel.

“What…” Roque murmured, but then it was gone, scurrying back out from where it had come from. He scrambled out after it, still on his hands and knees, and came nose-to-toe with a dirty black boot. He looked up, slowly.

“Hello,” Said Tactus, looming over him with a rather infuriating grin. “How go things on the ground, rabbit?”

Roque fell backwards, sitting hard on the ground. Behind Tactus stood all of his friends, all looking down at him, all with some variation on the grin the Antivan was displaying.

“Wh-what—?” He stammered, before two slim forms darted forward from behind Tactus to throw their arms around his neck. Quinn and Lea kissed him on his cheeks, saying,

“Blessed Name-day!”

Roque blinked.

“It’s… what?” He asked again, before the entire group shouted, “SURPRISE!” at him, and burst into laughter.

Roque gasped, and then found himself laughing along with them. His name-day. He’d completely forgot, just as they suspected he would. He wrapped his his arms around Quinn and Lea, so grateful to see all his friends safe, the mischievous bastards, so grateful that they’d remembered a day that had seemed so completely insignificant to everyone around him in his old life.

A heavily muscled Dwarf emerged to untangle Roque from the two girls, picking him clear off the ground, trapping his arms at his sides. He laughed his booming laugh and squeezed Roque gleefully.

“Pax—” Roque wheezed out, “I can’t breathe—”

Pax set him onto the ground as the little squirrel messenger from before wound its way quickly through their feet and the rest of the crowd, climbing up Sevro’s torso to tuck itself into one of his many pockets. He chuckled. Roque pointed an accusing finger at him.

“The squirrel was a trick!” He shouted. Everyone broke out into new fits of laughter.

“Well,” Sevro said with a shrug, “someone had to go let everyone know we were almost back. We’d planned this weeks ago, we couldn’t have you stumbling in and ruining it.”

“How did you even know when…?” He started to say, when Cassius spoke up.

“The Circle registry at Kirkwall,” The Templar said, a small smile on his face. “We—they kept records of all the mages there. Name-days included. They were rather… rigid in keeping tabs on you all, and you in particular were rather troublesome, so I remembered yours. Or at least, I was fairly sure I did. Did I guess right?”

Roque nodded silently at the Templar, at a loss for words. He knew he and Cassius had come a long way from the days when they were active adversaries, but this small thing meant more to Roque than the former Knight-Captain probably knew.  

“I forgot it was my birthday…” He said quietly. “But you all…”

“We would not forget,” a huge form in the back of the group rumbled. “The Qunari do not place any emphasis on what your people call name-day, but it is important to you, yes? So we did not forget.” Roque looked at Ragnar, thoroughly overwhelmed.

“So you’ve all been planning this since we left?” He asked.

“Did you honestly think these drunkards would pass up the chance to break into our alcohol stores?” Virginia asked dryly.

“I suppose that would be a lot to ask of them.” Roque smiled.

“Too right!” Victra said. She grabbed Tactus’s arm and headed for her own tent, yanking him along behind her. “Make yourself useful and help me move the wine barrels. Oi! The rest of you! Get moving, we have a party to throw!”

Sevro whooped and ran after them. Roque watched as his friends dispersed loudly, some of them going to help with the liquor, others beginning to lay out smoked meats and food Roque wasn’t even aware they had. Quinn and Tactus had certainly been busy. The must be running low on arrows, even.

Roque rubbed at his chest, at the spot directly over his heart. The effects he had felt from preparing to use blood magic had nearly faded. Now his heart beat fast for another, far less ominous reason. It was an unfamiliar sensation, but not an unwelcome one—in fact, he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of it. 

A hand clapped down on his shoulder and he looked up into Darrow’s face. The other man smiled down at him.

“Blessed be you on the day you were named,” Darrow said. “Andraste watch you and guide you.”

Roque returned a blinding grin in answer. 

“You know, I think she already is,” he replied, and meant it.


End file.
